White Dog and YoYoMa were about to join Bella and I in the office for some serious blog visiting when the call came. It was Steve.
This is his late teaching night when he returns home after 11pm so a call at nine was unusual. "I am on my way home," he announced. "Why?" I asked as the White Ones pressed closer to hear; their tails were wagging. "No wait, I didn't mean to sound like I wasn't glad that you are coming home..."
"I feel awful. The headache that was starting when I left has mushroomed into a screaming pounding throbbing monster so powerful that light hurts my eyes. And I can barely breathe, I am all stuffed up."
"Oh-oh, sickies," I shared with the White Dog Army and Candace. "Do you want some soup or do you just want to fall into bed?" "I'll try some soup and will try to do quick dog walks, too."
I hung up after soothing hurry home wishes. "Dad is sick," I told everyone. "Candace, just to be safe since you can't get sick and still go to work, maybe you and the girls should call it a night. I'll update you tomorrow." She was already gathering her stuff. The White Dog Army was prepping for nursing mode...getting glasses of water ready to promote hydration...laying out a quilt for cuddling on the chair as soup was served...making sure their treats were within easy reach so Steve would not have to get up unnecessarily.
They even remembered to be more subdued in their greeting when Steve came through the door. His forehead was clammy and breath smelled sour. Before pets or kisses, he grabbed a tissue. The WDA followed him into the office to change clothes and then herded him to a comfy chair.
"I am pretty sure our blog friends will understand," WD said a little sadly. "Dad needs us."